Croft Manor Adventures
by eggpotato
Summary: Various adventures of Croft Manor's occupants taking place between Legend and Underworld. I hope you'll enjoy it!
1. Day One

I wanted to welcome the reader to my first piece of work; not too surprisingly, it is quite bad (in my opinion). But I need a starting point. The Adventures will be a series of stories that happen at Croft Manor in-between the events of Tomb Raider Legend and Underworld. I intend this to be humorous but I will work on interweaving a serious plot into it as well.

I appreciate the readers' patience for reading this and I will welcome all critique. It is necessary to improve my style and finally write stories that people will appreciate.

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Croft Manor Adventures

* * *

Day One  
27th June, Wednesday

The Sun shone ferociously at its midday summit. Its presence and continuous activity rendered the weather unbearably humid. Amid little wind, there was little to breathe with. Lawns and gardens all across the countryside swelled with bees and pollen. The warmth facilitated the full swing of nature. Now and again a loud vehicle or a truck would storm past, breaking the idyllic silence – a feat often attributed to the nearby A3. However, the majority of the time at the Manor, the atmosphere was a mirrored contrast of the world outside. The omnipresent warmth of the country stood in comparison to the mild cool of the Manor's stone interior. The loud traffic a few miles out west was at once vanquished within the calm and quiet abode of the Crofts. By all means and by all stretches of the imagination, it was a haven from the world and its inhabitants understood that perfectly.

The hazy day was inclining towards its end. It was about eleven post meridiem. In the foyer of the mighty fortress, the fire crackled on. Zip was sat at his usual occupation: clicking away at his PC, switching between games and the internet. It was the usual hour he used to stop working and get some sleep and his intentions did not differ.

"Who the hell needs that fire?" wondered the young man. Nobody quite knew. Winston never missed a day starting it early in the morning and extinguishing at night. It was a strange ritual but one that nobody challenged or questioned. Zip was increasingly restless, a sentiment confirmed by his incessant wriggling and movement; his leather chair was becoming uncomfortable. He spent the whole day improving the programming for the PDA in order to have it finished before the owner of the Manor decided to plunge into a deep, dark and dangerous tomb once more. But now the day was over and it was time to go to sleep.

"Right, let's shut this down" murmured Zip as he stretched his arm towards the control panel. A short burst of whirring accommodated his request and the legion of machinery behind and in front of the programmer finally ceased to function. "This stuff is getting old" he added shortly after.

All would have continued as normal if not something rather peculiar. Namely, as Zip arose from his seat, the sizeable timber doors leading to the swimming pool slammed open. Instinctively, out of surprise, Zip squatted down. It might have been considered strange, knowing that the occupants of the Manor knew each other so well, but Zip craved adventure, even in its little forms. Consequently, he decided to stay out of the way of whoever decided to have an evening trek to the pool. Not entirely surprisingly, it was the Countess herself. She slowly made her way forward, navigating the furniture, producing a slight glance at the portrait of her parents resting above the fireplace and continuing onto the staircase. Droplets of water occasionally made their way onto the stone floor making a surprisingly large amount of noise. She held a rolled-up, white towel, switching it occasionally from shoulder to shoulder. Zip listened in close and could not help hearing a little humming. "Ever so confident" thought the young man.

It was a unique opportunity – at least in Zip's eyes. He had the advantage over the world famous archaeologist. The sheer brilliance of witnessing fear in the eyes of the tomb raider, should Zip take enough caution to scare her in some well-designed way, was too tempting. Zip had little time. Lara walked at a pace and if he did not think of something now, she would disappear within the confines of her bedroom within seconds. Zip quietly slid out of his glass enclosure, carefully avoiding cables and machinery. He then scrambled over to the sofa, the table, finally making his way up the stairs, in the footsteps of his employer.

Zip timed his plan perfectly. As Lara reached for the door, he slid in her way and shouted loudly to scare her off. She recoiled momentarily and without looking, produced an impressive athletic back-flip. Zip had the fortune of being stood in a shadow and so, as far as the woman was concerned, she was fighting an aggressor. The room was quiet and the fire crackled on and unusually for this time, strenuous shouting was heard. Lara first slid into Zip's aspect and floored him in an instant.

"God Lara! It's me!". She could not believe her ears. She took two steps back, reaching for the wall, still shocked at what was happening. Tilting her head forward, she said tenderly: "Zip?"

"I know you have a big house and all" he responded while slowly sitting up, "but that does not mean you can treat your employees like that." Assured of what just took place, she quickly got down to help the battered friend. "My God Zip, I had no idea it was you." She repeated those words a few times, while reviewing the extent of Zip's injuries. "Do you want some water?".

"I'll be fine, really. Maybe stalking you during the night is not too wise."  
"It was quite stupid." admitted the Countess. The man was now standing, breathing heavily. An awkward silence ensued.  
"What the bloody hell is happening here?" suddenly a voice emanated from the neighbouring corridor. A series of loud footsteps finally manifested Alistair. "Are you two wrestling here or something?! Some people are trying to sleep!". Zip looked confused and so did his companion. The entire situation appeared interesting at best. "The question is, Alistair" said Zip, "what the hell is that thing you are wearing?". The end of the sentence was accompanied by a gesture diverting the attention at Alistair's pyjamas. Woollen, cream coloured, knitted carefully, they did appear comical. Zip burst out laughing. "My grandmother knitted this. I see nothing entertaining in that fact."  
"Fashion is not your strongest point Alistair, is it?"  
"Do I look like a model to you? I am here to support with my knowledge" The Englishman paused and turned his head. Sighing deeply and turning to the side, he continued: "You know what? I'll just return to bed, it's impossible to reason with you. At least I am not the one jumping about at bloody midnight!".

Alistair was not joking. When he finished the sentence, he turned around and followed the corridor to reach his room. Zip glanced at Lara, who stood immobile for the entirety of the spectacle.

"Did you ever see his pyjamas before?" said Zip, rather quietly, masking a smile. He was not sure where the Countess stood; it was near-on impossible to detect what she felt.

"Zip...let's just not do that again." said the woman. "You know Alistair is sensitive. Leave him be."  
"Right, sorry".  
"And stop trying to scare me. It's not happening."  
"Still, watch out next time." said Zip. "Your standards are slipping." he added. Lara produced an exhausted sigh. "Good night."  
"See you tomorrow".

Unsure of the effect this entire event had on the group, Zip returned to his room. Lara did the same. Alistair was back at bed instantaneously but something would not let him sleep. He turned and bounced on his bed and an hour passed. The heat was getting to him. "Bloody air-conditioning, that is all I ask for". He got up and turned on the lights. Sitting on the bed, he decided that a cold drink is in order. Having wiped his face a few times with a cloth, standing at ready on his night stand, Alistair lifted himself up. On his way to the kitchen, he stepped into the bathroom. When he illuminated the interior with the light-switch, he decided to take a position before the large mirror. "There is nothing bloody wrong with this!". Alistair reviewed his woollen attire. He changed positions, cleaned his glasses – he did all to assure himself of the coherence of his ancestral pyjamas. "I call jealousy. Those Americans cannot appreciate art." Scorning Zip's position on his beloved article of clothing, Alistair vindicated the bathroom and after drinking a cold glass of orange juice, returned to bed. He was asleep quite soon.

* * *

The story will continue in due course.

Thanks for reading. All critique is appreciated.


	2. Day Two - Part I

Day Two  
28th June, Thursday

The heat did not abate nor did it display signs of ceasing. Early morning, usually cool and temperate, remained humid. Alistair's night was not a comfortable one. He awoke numerous times making his night's rest exceptionally tiresome. Thus, it was not a great surprise that there was tension when everyone made their way to the kitchen for breakfast. The dining table accommodated everyone, except for Lara, quite early on. Winston was preparing food; the frying pan sizzled and exploded frequently, browning the sausages contained within. In a pot nearby, a serving of baked beans, flowing in tomato sauce, boiled contently. Alistair was occupied reading a newspaper while Zip took the liberty of reading some messages on his phone. It was only the older, grey-haired man that undertook strenuous activity to bring the breakfast preparations to a tasty conclusion. His two guests sat at the table, not doing much.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Lara paced into the kitchen.

"Morning Winston!" she exclaimed. Zip and Alistair were excluded from the greeting. However, they obediently continued with their prior occupations, almost pretending not to have heard her.

"Morning my lady. Are you having your usual?" whispered back Winston.

"No, Winston. I am afraid that I must leave rather quickly." All three men centred their eyes on the woman as soon as she finished saying the last words of the sentence. She was in constant flux; at one moment taking an apple to then move onto the toast left from yesterday.

The silence was uncomfortable. The males were eager to learn why Lara remained in such a hurry and what could possibly require her this early. Winston turned around, after a few seconds of fixing his eyes on the tomb raider, and said with his trustworthy, frail voice: "My lady. Do you require packing? Where are your journeys taking you this morning?".

All present were relieved at Winston's question. After all, its intent of squeezing information out of Lara was veiled quite conveniently in Winston's professionalism and a sense of duty. "The UCL, they have been beginning for a lecture on a certain topic for ages now and last night I received a phone-call. I will lead a seminar today."

"UCL? A little help?" interrupted Zip. Lara finally looked at him, as though he only appeared there right now. Even Alistair took a break from his article, looked at Zip with mockery and sighed loudly.

Lara said: "University College London. Their archaeology society has been flooding me with requests and now I have free time. It's worked out quite nicely!" Crunch! The lady dug into her red apple at the end of the sentence. The sudden disappearance of the owner of the Manor was surprising. Nowadays she rarely left the house on unofficial business. She seemed to be there at all times. Consequently, when all learned that she will be gone, and from initial approximates for the whole day, they were not sure what to expect.

"Are you OK with the tech and transport?" asked Zip.

"Yes, thanks Zip. Thankfully, I can still find my way around Surrey." Lara turned to Winston: "Winston, I would greatly appreciate it if you could get my bike ready." The old man acquiesced and left the room in order to fulfil his order.

Alistair was still unaffected by the conversation. The rustling of the newspaper was a cyclical feature, happening now and again. However, rather slyly, the vexed man put down the paper and leaning on the table, said in a decisive tone:

"What do those squirrels at the UCL want this time?".

Alistair's sense of pride at being an independent scholar was obvious in his militant outlook on different educational institutions. He could not stand Lara sharing his own research and her own findings with the outside world but he knew that in the long run, she was right.

Lara responded rather quickly but continued to move about in search of her bike keys. "They are interested in my findings. You see, not all archaeologists discover King Arthur's sword that easily and efficiently." Alistair arose from the chair. "Lara, you risked your life for this and now you are just going to tell everyone about what we learnt?". The man was clearly troubled. Lara sighed. "Alistair. I will not tell more than needs to be told. I'm there to explain that King Arthur was more than a myth and not that I once was the holder of his sword, thrashing everything around with thunderbolts. Trust me, I'll be fine!". She finally grabbed her keys.

Skipping out of the room she waved the two men goodbye. Seconds later a loud thud announced her departure; the wooden doors of the main entrance to the manor were closed as soon as Winston returned to the premises. That was it. Silence. Lara left the Manor for the first time in a few months and the three had the place all to themselves.

* * *

Zip was studying a programming glitch in a latest version of some software he designed for the PDA. The task was cumbersome. It was around midday. The computers whirred and made a substantial amount of noise. He was extremely tired, especially considering he already spent the entire morning doing the same thing and tasks that were extremely repetetive. Zip felt tempted to abandon his workstation and go for a swim, just to relax. However, to his relief, he spotted something quite extraordinary. Extending his head around his monitor, he noticed Alistair, wading through the cables to finally make eye contact with Zip.

"Is the world ending or has Alistair Fletcher abandoned his books!? And at such a time too! What are you doing here man?" Zip sat back on his chair and pointed to a wooden stool, as if inviting Alistair to sit upon it. Instead, he opted to lean against the wall and cross his arms.

"Well. I have come in peace to hold a conversation. Firstly, what the bloody hell happened last night?"

Zip chuckled.

"Oh man, you're not going to fry me over that now, are you? You see, Lara was walking back from a swim and I decided to scare her a bit. It was a bad idea."

"Amateur. You got battered, didn't you?"

"What did it look like?" asked Zip with a trace of sarcasm.

"Well. See, I came to talk about this morning. I am worried. This entire situation seemed strange."

"What do you mean, man?" asked Zip. Alistair tutted and moved his hands. "Just everything, I mean...Lara seemed a bit on the edge, didn't she?"

"Wow. You clearly do not know her too well."

"I know her well enough to assume that she will politely greet her friends in the morning. She ignored us completely – did that not surprise you a bit?" pleaded Alistair. Zip shook his head in agreement and added: "I guess you are right. That is unlike her." A stint of silence followed. Both men gathered theories and contemplated the possible cause of such a sudden change. "But why?" began Zip.

"I do not know. But there is one thing I can tell you." Alistair signalled Zip to follow him. The two men walked slowly through the Manor's numerous corridors to finally arrive at Alistair's room. It was a plain space with a normal-sized bed and a large clock on the wall. Zip surveyed the interior carefully searching for a possible point of ridicule but considering the seriousness of the circumstances, he abstained from the desired banter.

Suddenly, Alistair bent over to retrieve a bundle of papers from one of the drawers of his wooden cabinet, located neatly before his bed. Zip sat down on the bed alongside Alistair. He began to talk: "I might not love that place too much" continued Alistair "but I did bother to keep a certain leaflet that I was gifted from a professor down at the UCL." Alistair continued to look through the blue booklet. A golden ribbon whistled between the pages.

"Here!" exclaimed the young man, directing his finger at an index table. Zip paid closer attention to its contents. "Term dates. Wait..." Zip froze. Alistair's heart beat twice as quick as usual. Both retained serious expressions. Zip obliged the pair and read the last column out loud: "Term VI conclusion: 17 May. Term VII conclusion: 20 June. How many terms are there?"

"Seven. Zip..." said Alistair "The UCL are out of term. The archaeological society is closed; they are all probably wandering about Egypt right now, breaking stuff. Zip, what is that woman doing?"

"Man, I have no idea" Both looked hopelessly concerned. "But she's not leading a lecture, that is for sure."

* * *

Thanks for bearing with me. The story shall continue.


	3. Day Two - Part II

_Good day. This is the continuation of the story. The chapter is quite long but it builds up the story thoroughly. I still hope it remains interesting throughout. I appreciate it if someone takes the time to read the chapter and please feel free to critique._

_Have a good read!_

* * *

The wooden doors protecting the entrance to the Manor opened, instantaneously producing a shrieking, high-pitched sound, highly irritating to the ear. The brass-laden hinges were not cleaned in quite some time. It was highly unlike the butler to forget things but it would seem that in regards to door-husbandry, Winston had a lot of catching up to deliver.

Lara left the house; the sudden flash of sunlight caused her eye-lids to squirm momentarily as she adjusted to the bright conditions outside.

"Lovely" she sighed.

Winston was already struggling in the garage. As Lara came closer and closer to the edifice, she could hear more clearly strenuous activity and the straining of a determined individual. The sand infused path outside the foyer, leading towards the garages, crumbled underneath Lara's heavy boots. Each step she took was accompanied by a sound corresponding to the force and angle with which she hit the ground. Soon, she was within the hearing range of the butler. He straightened himself, placed the bike in an upward position and motioned to the Countess, signalling politely his attention.

"That would be enough, Winston. Thank you very much." She picked up pace in walking towards her black motorbike and the black-clad older man, clearly winded, standing next to it as though he was an inseparable companion to the metal vehicle. The metallic paint glittered in the sun and streaks of pure light, illuminating the Ducati's bodywork, conceded onto the bike a great degree of attraction. It was a jewel and Lara knew it.

"Will you require anything else, my lady?" inquired expectedly Winston. The tomb raider sat on the bike, activated its engine and turned her head slightly to the right in order to face the grey-haired butler. Disregarding her earlier movement, she elected to look down onto the floor. After a brief pause, she said very quietly, "I appreciate your concern, Winston. Just take care of Zip and Alistair. Make sure that Zip does not find himself at liberty to explore Alistair's wardrobe; their arguments can be a little irritating sometimes."

"Certainly, my lady." whispered back the old man. "Is there an approximation as to when you shall return. I would make suiting preparations."

"There will be no need, Winston. Just tend to the house as normal. I am confident that we have sufficient supplies?"

"Of course, my lady. In this case, I wish you a safe journey".

"Take care, Winston!" shouted Lara, words synchronised perfectly with the revving of the bike and her departure from within the enclosure of the Manor.

The dirt, agitated by the tyres, arose plentifully and created a dusty aura in the vicinity of the garage. As the old man watched, he motioned with his arm in order to remove some of the sandy residue from his meticulously maintained blazer. Even though some grain remained, creating a creamy impurity on the surface of the coal-black jacket, the butler turned around and followed in Lara's footsteps to close the Manor and return to his usual occupations.

* * *

The black beast roared mercilessly on the A3, capturing the attention of fellow road users. Using the fast lane for almost the entirety of the time, Lara recalled passing all kinds of vehicles. Trucks, tractors, cars. The mirage of mid-morning traffic was indeed a nice sight, especially if the long-chain of slower auto-mobiles disappeared at a frantic pace. The journey was enjoyable but was inevitably bound to end at some stage.

"And what do we have here?" though the woman suddenly.

A yellow coloured car suddenly appeared in the front. It was the first vehicle in a long time to find the bravery of blocking the lane for the superior bike behind.

"Now, that just won't do at all." she whispered. Her cheeks cramped to manifest a cunning smile.

Within the next few seconds, the black Ducatti caught up with the auto mobile in front. Lara was forced to break heavily in order to avoid completely penetrating the Rover 45 in front.

"Hmm, I guess it's right what they say. The owner always reflects his car." The outer passage was blocked by a truck with a rather large trailer so overtaking was not an option. Besides, the brown-haired lady was reluctant to brake too many traffic laws. However, Lara was not a patient person; she'd never accept being held back without a proper reason and so she mastered a plan, not so peculiar to her past repertoire of absolute madness.

Revving up her bike, she began to close in on the vehicle in front. It would seem that the driver did not pay much attention to his rear view mirror. If he did, he'd be subjected to one of the most terrifying panoramas in the motoring world; a bike speeding at at least a hundred miles an hour only a few inches behind his car. Little could he know, even if he did look, as to who was driving it.

The speed of the two vehicles was beyond belief; both clearly violated the speed limit. The Rover however, was barely managing with the required power to accomodate such a speed. Charcoal coloured fumes began to slowly rise from the exhaust and the loudness of the engine of the car almost overwhelmed the Ducatti's. The remainder of the road froze in amazement as to what was happening.

Almost all the cars behind, fortunate to witness the whole thing, surrendered to a single line of conversation: "Blood hell son, look at them go!"

The car was almost tagged by the motorbike behind it. There must have been less than an inch of space between the rear bumper of the lacklustre Rover and the front wheel of the Ducati. At an opportune moment, predetermined by Lara, she swerved her bike violently to the right, in order to come into contact with the metal barrier separating the northbound carriageway from its southern counterpart. At this stage, even oncoming traffic travelling towards Guildford could get an eye-full; a spectacle of a lifetime.

Following her plan, she had a stretch of space in front in which to squeeze in between the barrier and the car. She proceeded without hesitation and artfully navigated the obstacles in place, such as the thick road markings below whose texture upset the balance of the bike going at such a high speed, or the large, metal screws sticking out of the barrier to the side, almost scraping the surface of the vehicle. The move was extremely dangerous and risky as the gap present between the car and the barrier was narrow. Any mistakes at this stage would end tragically but shortcomings were not exactly a speciality of Lara, especially under high pressure.

Slowly but surely, the bike utilised the opening and the rider was able to advance to finally make eye-contact with the driver. The old gentleman behind the wheel, enclosed within the leather environ of his vehicle, could not believe his own eyes. His mouth opened slowly just as his eyes widened. To relieve the distress of the gentleman, Lara obliged and waved, producing a sly smile. Accelerating forwards, within seconds, she was free of the tight corridor located between the car and the barrier and gushing in front with all might. The driver was mesmerised; he was an older gentleman, with long grey hair and black glasses. In all, he was probably wealthy in life's experiences but today, he learnt and indeed witnessed something completely new. Lara's bike was soon out of his sight, but she did her best to indulge her short acquaintance with the car behind, by flashing her emergency lights for a few seconds. Lara was extremely pleased with her invincibility on the road. It gave her a wild disposition of satisfaction.

"Now, now, nobody likes too much drama but the lady wanted to pass. Basic courtesy." she whispered to herself within the confine of her helmet.

Revving up the bike, she thundered forwards, the engine roaring, and made her way to her desired destination. As the black bullet galloped forward on the concrete road, as it disappeared into the panorama of English countryside, the sun shone bright and the trees danced in the wind. It was almost as though everything came back to life. The bird song, detectable even under the blanket of hundreds of engines working, assured all concerned of the beauty of that place. The bike soon merged in the distant sunlight, dissolving slowly in the panorama. Against all odds, the A3 was a pretty place indeed.

* * *

Within the erratic maze of green hills, swaying and veering in a motion of its green carpet, stood a solitary and isolated cottage. Its thatched roof, challenging the dominantly green mirage with its sun-burnt olive-coloured surface, protected the upper segments of the bright bricked structure. The building itself was cordoned off by a wooden fence, about four-feet high. A sizeable path, composed mainly of sand and gravel, including little rocks and stones, led out from the entrance to the cottage, to meet a road, a single carriageway, about 700 yards north. On both sides, a plentiful garden blossomed. Legions of bees and flies, working busily, buzzing and whizzing past at speed, found their home and occupation in the well-maintained maze of flowers, hedges and various plants.

The house did not seem big; certainly not big enough to house a family. It appeared to be a more of a singular residence, for a single person. However, its many features, such as the gilded lamp posts scattered around the garden or the variety of tropical-looking trees bearing fantastical fruit, could assure anyone of the affluence of its potential occupant. And amid all this, this theatre of beauty was quiet. One could state that its state could be owed to a group of ghosts; invisible, but yet working hard to not allow the residence to enter a state of decay.

The tiring sound of an engine suddenly entered the vicinity. The sounds of birds tweeting subsided as a motorbike pulled up to the nearby path. Exiting the carriageway, whose long-stretch would finally lead to a major road, the black Ducati made its way slowly on the creamy gravel path. Lara swerved her head to the right and left, admiring the sight of the aforementioned garden. It was not jealousy but certainly a sense of awe; a garden worthy of competition with the magical maze of the Manor, where a cricket symphony assembled every single evening. As a consequence, Lara began to think of home and of Zip and Alistair.

"Maybe I should have told them..." she whispered.

At the same time, the helmet which protected her throughout the journey, was removed. She moved slowly and held it in her arm, while steering at the same time.

The conjecture of the furtive way in which she left the house, without telling Alistair or Zip and most importantly, lying to them, made her extremely uncomfortable. So much was she consumed in her contemplations, that she almost failed to stop the bike in time before impacting on the gate which led into the property. Lara stepped off the bike and took a minute to observe her surroundings.

She noticed that the way in which the cottage was protected by the gate was rather interesting. The wooden fence was low enough to be scaled by a child and yet, the entrance proper, was protected by a tall, lead gate, about ten feet in size. Its pillars were encroached upon by a thick layer of wild moss. In some places, weeds and untameable roses took root. In a way, the gate looked pretty.

"I guess I should knock" she thought.

And she did. The metallic clunking recurred three times. Taking a look now and again, pulling back the damp plants in order to get a line of sight, Lara waited patiently until she was finally rewarded. A dry voice in pair with the sound of repetitive and heavy steps, cried in the direction of the brown-haired adventurer.

"Lara. So you have found me worthy of accepting my invitation. Come in, please!". The gate began to whir. It opened rather spectacularly, shaking and making noise, until the property was unveiled completely and the bars of the gate were no longer impeding the view.

A short, stocky male was stood in the middle of the path which continued until the steps leading up to a timber set of doors. To the side, the house was guarded by numerous stone statues and titanic pots filled with soil, out of which sprang out many mysterious reeds and flowers.

"I hope that my humble abode has not disappointed you." added the man.

He was wearing a white suit, about two sizes too small. To accompany that fact, Lara could not help but pay attention to another article of his attire, mainly a comical red cravat, laid out on the surface of his black shirt. The colours of his blazer, shirt and tie merged to grant the Countess a most dissatisfying first impression. In all honesty, the plump man looked like a clown. As to his face, he was a typical Englishman in his forties, with too much wealth and time on his hands. He lacked hair, resulting in baldness but he took care to maintain a rather wild composition of facial hair. His thick eyebrows contrasted sharply with his invisible lips and rosy cheeks. It also occurred to Lara that the man must have been subjected to some sort of physical activity in the near past. It was most probably the need to leave the house and greet his guest. Droplets of sweat formed on the pale face, illuminated by the midday sun.

"I would be impressed if any of this was actually yours, Mr. Talbot." answered Lara, addressing Talbot's initial question.

She turned to the side in order to grasp a wider awareness of the garden directly outside the cottage.

"Oh. You mean, like your house, which you had to work for so hard." Talbot smiled and chuckled dryly.

Lara recognised a hint of hostility in the man which she expected prior to the meeting and consequently, she could retort to the words with a genuine and relaxed smile. Inwards, she was already disgusted of the character she had come to speak with.

"I really do hope that you have arrived alone, Lara. You see, I do not desire trouble."

"I honour my agreements John. You know it."

"In this case, why don't we proceed inside? Do follow me."

John Talbot joyously bounced from his place and began to wade towards his house. Lara cautiously proceeded inwards, following, what was increasingly becoming a whitish lump of moist skin enclosed within a tight bag of cotton. Indeed, that's what Talbot appeared to look like.

The second Lara walked into the cottage, she felt relieved. The temperature finally dropped to a pleasant level, courtesy of the ventilation system installed above. Even an adventurer of incomparable physical prowess could not stand the heat for too long. The fat man led the woman into a foyer, clustered with sofas, chairs, tables, stands, shelves and all manners of expensive furniture. A set of crystal glasses rested on a wooden tray, glistening in the light which entered the room from the large set of mobile windows which formed a square, surrounding the space. A bulter trembled in the corner, awaiting the decrees of his master.

"Now..." Talbot slumped onto a sofa and invited Lara to do similarly on an opposing piece of furniture..."what would you like to drink, Lara?"

"I have not come here to drink." she answered quickly.

Harbouring little surprise, the stocky man clicked his fingers. Like an automaton, the lean butler awoke from his stationary slumber and walked towards the bar in order to prepare a drink, nature of whose was presumably predetermined by the sign which the click of the finger had become. Lara was still stood, confidently, about five yards away from the host. She crossed her arms and anticipated the resurrection of the conversation, wondering which one of them should do the honour. She resolved to wait; her ambition of saying something was retarded by the arrival of the employee, trembling with a tray of at least three shots of vodka.

Alongside the alcohol, she spotted a white cloth and a block of chocolate. The fat man received his order and placing the tray on a table in front, he finally sat up and undoing his blazer, he spoke with a fatigued voice: "I called for you Lara, because you are reliable...and"

"And I came here, because you know of an artefact." The interruption invigorated the male. His potential employee was already showing the signs of the qualities which he admired and wanted in his employ.

"Yes. Of course. But please, do sit down or are we going to continue like this?"

"There really is not much to talk about, Talbot. Just tell me where it is and then we will talk."

"But Lara, do you really have me for such a fool? Should I be honest? I was sure you would not come. After all, dealing with a crime mogul was a bit...well...is a bit adventurous for you, even for you..."

The discourse was stopped in its tracks by the swallowing of the glass of vodka by Talbot.

He shook his head and returned: "But here you are. Now, that is surprising, because you like things clean, right? But here you are. That is interesting and I am happy."

The stocky male bounced up on his sofa as he spoke the last words. Before continuing, he placed his hands on his neck, stretching them out lazily, and said a lot more slowly: "To keep things clean, we need a plan."

Lara was running out of patience. She relaxed her arms and turned her head to face Talbot directly.

"Mr. Talbot. I assure you, we are very different people and nothing but the desire to retrieve that artefact led me to visit you. Do not make the mistake of bargaining with me because I am known to be a terrible conversationalist and therefore I request politely for the location of the artefact. I will write you a cheque for its value right now."

Talbot burst out laughing in a slightly snobbish way; as though a little girl just told him a pitifully ridiculous story. It took him time to control his laughter. Lara was not amused.

"A cheque? Hah!" Talbot continued to laugh. "You think that I want money? That is extremely thoughtful of you but trust me, if I needed money, I'd just get some of my men to hack Barclays!"

The stocky man began another rampage of rapacious laughter. His sense of self-satisfaction was insatiable and yet, he craved to gain Ms. Croft's approbation of his plans. Psychologically, he already felt extremely inferior and disadvantaged in the face of his visitor. His only hope was the bargaining power of knowledge of the location of an artefact which Lara wanted too.

"What else would you need it for? What else would your kind need it for?" asked Lara.

"Let's keep lean on the details and get to the actual deal, Lara, I am increasingly tired of this." Talbot rubbed his hands together; he motioned the butler to take the tray from before his face.

"You get the relic for me, deliver it straight to me..."

Lara stepped forward, kicked the stand from before Talbot and retrieved two silver-coloured guns from her backpack. Talbot was terrified; he attempted to escape to his rear but the weight of his body disabled any motion. Lara held both of the guns in close proximity to Talbot's chest.

Crossing her eyes, she said in a dignified manner and a low tone. Each word spoken by the woman send a shiver down the Englishman's spine.

"Mr. Talbot. There has been a misunderstanding. I will not give you that relic. We agreed for a cash sum in return for the location of that relic. I want it...now!" at the conclusion of the sentence, Lara pressed her guns even harder against Talbot's chest.

The bald man was terrified, whimpering now and again, and unsure of what could happen. The silence lasted for a long time; in the circumstances, even three seconds felt like a long period of time. Lara miscalculated one thing: the position of the butler. He was not in the room when the conversation got out of hand and thus, he was not aware of what ensued. However, he came back. His insignificant frame meant that he was unrecognisably agile and dexterous when need be. As a result, when he re-entered the room, he became a subject to a shock. Talbot was being strangled by a pair of guns, held by the woman. Seeing the peril of his employer, the butler remained faithful to a technique which he trained in case of an unsuccessful criminal deal.

He waded through the counters to finally reach the bar. He stretched out his arm in order to gain access to a small container located underneath the thick, granite counter. Agile he was but still clumsy. In his attempt to reach the desired item, he knocked over a glass, alerting Lara, who turned around in an instant to meet the barrel of a shotgun. She scrambled to the right and dispatched the butler straight away. His lean body was penetrated by at least five bullets. He slid back into the cabinet filled with alcoholic drinks, some of which broke away and hit the floor.

"Dealing with a criminal. Breaking up a party. A lot of broken glasses. Hmm, when has this happened before?" Lara looked at a HD TV, hanging freely on one of the pillars in the room. She directed her gun in the direction of the electronic device and aiming carefully, she shot the bolt holding the TV upwards, loosening its grip and resulting in the TV coming down to the ground, crashing and creating a lot of noise. "I knew there was something missing." Lara thought to herself. "That's better." She stood in the room, smiling.

It was only now that Talbot returned into her attention. His disappearance alerted her.

"He couldn't have gone far" Lara considered. "The top priority now is to find something about that artefact. It's got to be here somewhere."

Suddenly, an exhausted voice descended on Lara. "Are you looking for this?"

Talbot was holding a weathered, red suitcase in his hand, outside, in the sun-clad garden. Whatever it contained, it must have had a reference to the relic in question. Besides, Talbot felt it was significant enough to hide from her. He began to run; the task of hunting this athletic man down seemed unreal to Lara. However, she knew he must have had a card up his sleeve. Her suspicions proved right when she spotted an armoured truck next to her bike at the entrance. As Lara jumped out of the ruined cottage, she spotted Talbot making his way down with the suitcase and about seven armed men to the north, making their way in her direction.

"It would seem you do not honour your agreements either, Mr. Talbot. We were supposed to be alone!" Lara shouted.

The fat man could not resist a witty conversation. He stopped in his tracks, began to breathe violently, and answered back. He was a significant distance away.

"I might be a big crime lord, Lara, but I am not stupid. It would seem that you are though, coming here on your own!"

While Talbot was holding his fatigued discourse, Lara took out the magnetic grapple from her backpack and attached it to her trousers. She spotted a conveniently positioned iron ring, a part of stone statue manifesting a mermaid located in the garden, and the shining head of Talbot right below it. Just as Talbot concluded his quasi-victorious speech, Lara took a generous run up and launching herself from the stairs leading into the house, managed to jump onto a grass hedge. From there, she repeated the feat, struggling for grip on top of the prickly bush, and strained for a big jump. Mid-air, she extended the grapple, successfully attaching herself to the mermaid. In flight, she positioned her body in order to gain sight of John Talbot.

Within a second, he was right below her. The grapple retracted, making a metallic sound. Lara managed to time her landing to perfection and forcing the large man to the floor with the weight of her body, she looked down on the face of the criminal with a face full of irony.

"Oh. Is that so?" said Lara.

She slowly grabbed the suitcase. Talbot was too shocked to do anything.

The threat of the armed men in front of her remained. They all froze in complete admiration of her acrobatics but someone finally shouted the order to fire.

Lara avoided the bullets routinely and found cover in the forest of stone statues located on the eastern wing of the garden. Firing a few shots, taking down a single man, Lara sneaked out by the side. Firing died down due to the fact that the armed men lost sight of Lara. In the meantime, she navigated the bushes and plants located in the garden to finally reach the laughably ineffective wooden fence.

She stopped, took a breather, and step after step, breached the fence. Standing on the other side, she looked back at the cottage and the mess she left behind. Holding onto the briefcase, she felt satisfied again, very much so.

Her bike was intact, parked in the very spot she abandoned it before. The gate was there, the reeds were still there, only now a behemoth of a truck blocked the entrance. The men inside were completely lost. As far as they were concerned, the woman had vanished. Even if they did look back, the armoured van conveniently masked Lara's position.

She got on the bike ever so comfortably, equipped her helmet and roared away, provocatively loudly. It was only then that the armed men realised what had happened. It was no use trying to catch the bike; when they finally moved the van out of the way, ready for pursuit, Lara's bike was all but a tiny, black dot on the horizon, speeding towards the busy junction.

Talbot, holding on to his paining neck, ordered his men to stand down. He had enough adventures for one day and enough of Ms. Croft for a lifetime.

* * *

The Manor was peaceful, as was usual for this time of day. The sun was about to set and orange and pink coloured streaks of sunlight painted the heavens in a most wonderful array. Indoors, the corridors were quiet, cool and dark. Winston had turned off the supply of electricity to the majority of the Manor, since everyone was in the foyer, occupying the same space. The fire crackled cosily, with Winston tending to it and assuring of its potency. The clocks ticked as normal. The only unusual sight was Alistair Fletcher, nervously fixated on a sofa, daydreaming while looking at the impressively large portrait of the Crofts. This time was usually study time for him; rather rebelliously, he spent the evening doing nothing, awaiting the return of Lara and pondering where she might have gone. Zip was at a computer.

"What if she's not back by the end of the evening?" burst out Alistair.

He got up and began to walk around the room, nervously, saying in a voice betraying fear, anxiety and irritation: "How can you all stand here...I mean...she's clearly not doing what she told us."

"But what do you expect to do about it Alistair?" shouted Zip, joining the conversation without any signs of interest. He remained on his chair, his face illuminated by the display of the monitor.

"If you want to find her, then feel free! England is very nice at night!"

Alistair waved his hand in Zip's direction and sighed in disappointment. He returned to his previous place and crossing his arms, he divulged even deeper into his thoughts.

"What about you, Winston?" continued Alistair, not allowing himself any more peace. "What do you think about all this?".

The older man straightened himself out and groaning slightly due to some pain associated with his aching muscles, he said in a low tone:

"Lady Croft is unconventional. Let us leave it at that. I trust that whatever she does, she will return safely."

The conclusion of the sentence coincided with the sound of an engine outside.

"It's her!" screamed Alistair.

He jumped out of the foyer, evading furniture like a wild panther, opening wide the doors and running in the direction of the arriving bike. Winston and Zip walked out in Alistair's trail.

Lara parked her bike in the garage, deposited her helmet in the right place and left the edifice. Pressing a few buttons on the control panel, she closed the gate, ensuring the safety of her bike. Suddenly she spotted Alistair and could not help but smile a bit. He was never a great runner and his current disposition betrayed his non-athletic nature.

"LARA!" screamed Alistair. "Where the bloody hell have you been?!". Alistair was lost for words, "...you have so so...so much explaining to do!"

"Do I now?" she responded. "Are we going to speak here or is there a possibility of me entering my own house any time today?" she added.

Alistair was crimsoning with ire. He could not believe her. Both knew that she did not go to a lecture and this infuriated the young male. He wanted to know where she went, why she lied but, he felt great relief at seeing her safe and in one piece. It was not long before Zip and Winston caught up and began to question the woman along similar lines, only with more self-control and calm than Alistair.

The group walked back into the Manor. Not unusually, they spread out around the foyer, each person allocated to their usual place. There was a lot of sighing and movement but in the end, every single person was glad that the Countess returned safe. It did not take long before the party, especially Alistair, was beginning to wander about the suspicious red suitcase that Lara so fondly handled here and there. It took them all no less than ten minutes to calm and enter a position in which they could converse.

"Zip, I will almost definitely need you at the computers. Alistair, listen closely. I will need your help."

Zip complied and rushed over to his glass enclosure, activating the required hardware. Alistair was still shocked but he turned his head in Lara's direction in order to seem compliant with her request. Winston understood that he could do little to support the situation, so he decided to make his way to the maintenance shed, grab some tar and finally oil the squeaky hinges on the Manor doors.

As the old man left the room, Lara turned her head towards the butler and said in a clear tone: "Thank you, Winston. I am very grateful for your management of the Manor during my absence."

"Anything, my lady. I shall now proceed to oil the hinges on the doors." he returned.

Lara smiled and responded: "I would very much appreciate it."

"And so will the bloody visitors" injected Alistair.

He felt threatened by the silence so he attempted to relieve the situation by pretending to be cool-headed. He continued to gaze at the ceiling, the fireplace and Lara, one after the other, almost shaking from disbelief. He tried to catch a glimpse of what the woman was trying to do with the suitcase but he could not make out too much.

"The machines are live!" shouted Zip.

Lara smiled to acknowledge the fact. A long spell of silence continued, interrupted only by Winston's reappearance in the room, holding a soiled jar of a black liquid and making his way to the exit. Almost everyone ignored him, except for the frantic Alistair, who still remained unsatisfied as to the lack of explanation from his employer.

Out of the sudden, Lara sighed heavily and chucking the suitcase onto the floor in frustration, she added: "That's just lovely!"

"What is it, Lara?" shouted back Zip. He was still anticipating a request and the size, number and loudness of the machinery in front of him made conversation rather cumbersome.

"It would seem that our little suitcase is rather well protected." Lara turned around. "Alistair, have a look."

She presented the frail object to the male.  
Alistair reviewed the item closely, applying all his knowledge and analysis to the potential source and nature of the origin of the case.

"It is a plain case but this lock is particularly fascinating." He ran his fingers over the golden bodywork of the tiny lock located in the midst of the two sides of the suitcase. After a short thought, he added, "The lock in itself is a find; never mind what we find within."

"Am I correct to state that the lock is connected to its contents?" asked Lara.

"You are. This is a Joseph Bramah lock. From the quality of the build I am estimating its origin to be around the time of the French Revolution. But how did they manage to screw it onto a fresh case?"

Alistair looked up to meet both Lara's and Zip's eyes. "And yes, this lock is almost definitely connected to a parchment within. I presume it is that that we are after?"

"But how do we open it without destroying the contents?" inquired the Countess.

"You will require a key, no doubt, a unique key. But the material is fragile..." Alistair ran his fingers over the lock once more, collecting some dust along the way, "...We might find it difficult to acquire a set of keys compatible with this lock, without upsetting its balance."

Suddenly, a frail voice emanated from within the depths of the dark infused corner of the foyer.

"If I might be insolent enough to interject; I have a good friend working the trade of locksmith in London. I believe he owns an antique show and oddly enough, he specialises in Bramah locks."

All the three members of the investigative group look amazed. They remained fixated into the eyes of the older man as though he actually said something outrageous. Winston was troubled. He concluded quickly:

"I am willing to help you acquire a key to a Bramah lock, my lady". The older man turned to Lara when he finished the sentence.

"That is splendid" she responded with joy. "Winston, would you be kind enough to let Zip contact your friend." Lara turned around. "Zip, arrange a meeting for tomorrow. I want that key"

"Yes, on it." answered Zip.

"In the meantime, I must wish you lot goodnight. I am rather tired."

Lara stretched out and collecting the case from the sofa, she made her way upstairs.

"Goodnight Alistair!" she said as she passed the younger male. He was still a bit apprehensive about today but he accepted the bidding without hesitation.

"Goodnight Lara. I am glad you are back" whispered Alistair with a sense of relief. The party dispersed soon and all were asleep. It was only Alistair that struggled to sleep; he still could not tolerate Lara's actions but especially the way in which she purposefully deceived him and Zip.

"She's back though...and safe" he thought. "That's all that matters."

He thought long and hard that night and many an hour passed before he finally closed his eyes and managed to float away in blissful sleep.

* * *

_I hope the story is readable! My aim was to make it interesting throughout and not to lose focus. The story will continue. I will appreciate any reviews or comments._

_Thanks for reading this._


	4. Day Three - Part I

_Welcome to the next part of the story. I must admit that I developed a plot that is a bit overwhelming. I wanted this story to be over by now but I simply cannot finish it quite yet. So, I added the next chapter to the evolving storyline. Also, remembering that I once intended this story to be humorous, I added a bit more humour this chapter (or so I think). Thanks for taking your time to read it. I appreciate all reviews and messages with constructive critique. Thanks again!_

* * *

Day Three  
29th June, Friday.

Lara's assignments usually required skill, therefore commanding a need for her to act alone. Whether it was the usual tomb raiding and exploration or negotiations, she handled things best on her own. This is why that Friday was extraordinary.

The usual preparations for breakfast were made. Oddly enough, it began to rain in the early hours of the morning, Alistair being a first-hand witness. As the occupants of the mansion made their way to the kitchen, the raindrops pounded against the roof of the Manor persistently. The hot Wednesday and Thursday collided with the pale and cool Friday, creating an unpleasantly wet and humid morning. It was like an admixture of the two summer phenomena of the English weather: it was very warm, now it would be very wet.

A sense of anticipation hung in the air. Quietly, almost intimidatingly so, Lara ate her toast, overturning a newspaper from time to time. At the same table, trembling from disbelief, was Alistair; tired and traumatised by yesterday's events. They were too sudden, too unexpected and too surreal for him. He hated change and the speed with which it may come about; the string of feelings and emotions left him almost unable to compose himself. Zip knew that very well, being Alistair's best and only friend. All the hours spent together in conversation, pranking and arguments, made the two understand one another extremely well. Zip understood the situation. Deep inside however, he also felt a curiosity, slowly devouring his calm. Both did not fully understand Lara's behaviour. The only thing they knew is that the red case has to be opened and the man to do that is somewhere in London.

That is where the extraordinary particle of that Friday was fully manifested. Following breakfast, almost everyone expected Lara to dress and depart, channelling her suspicious departure the morning prior, but they were wrong.

"What time is it Winston?" said quietly Lara, getting up from the table and walking calmly to the other end of the room. The older man staggered, realising that he has forgotten to wear his wristwatch this morning.

"Pardon me, my lady. I shall inquire after the time in the foyer." Winston almost immediately left the room.

"I told you that getting a phone is an option, Lara" spoke Zip. He turned to her and stretched out his hands to place them on the back of his neck, as he would do always. Alistair continued to slurp porridge.

"You know. It tells you the time and stuff like that!". Zip was audibly sarcastic.

"I do not like sarcasm and I definitely do not like expensive watches, even those masquerading as expensive trinkets, like a phone" responded Lara. She emitted a sly smile.

"You'd rather have Winston jog over to the foyer, risk him tripping up or something one day, just to tell you the time?"

"Winston is far more reliable than that, Zip. Give him the credit he deserves."

"We are missing the point here, Lara. You need a phone"

"Shut it, Zip. You are beginning to bore me" The conversation took a humorous turn, as was usually the case between Lara and Zip. He was always trying to convince her of something, forgetting that this woman does things her way. After all, it took seven months to convince her of the merits of the PDA upgrade; making her buy new equipment would be more problematic, especially something as complex as a smart-phone.

"Ten past eight, my lady" interrupted the frail voice of the older gentleman.

"Thank you, Winston" Lara picked up her jacket from the chair and putting it on quickly, she added: "We are moving out in ten minutes' time. Winston, I would appreciate it if you could order a cab to take us to Guildford station. Zip and Alistair, you are coming with me" Saying this, Lara departed from the kitchen.

The surprise on the faces of all the males was hardly surprising. As mentioned above, Lara always did things on her own but this time, it seems, the whole group would get a chance to adventure together. Albeit, only to attain a key to a very old lock. It was still a sort of a domestic adventure and while not all showed enthusiasm for it, they certainly felt it inside. Winston complied with the request of the Countess. The kitchen emptied sluggishly as Zip proceeded to gather his outdoor clothing. Alistair slacked a bit, taking a look at the newspaper and biting some left-over toast; eventually, he found the strength to go upstairs and prepare for the trip.

* * *

The journey from the Manor to Guildford, all within the confines of a black cab, was interesting. The three men and the woman sat together in the spacious interior of the car, all pretending to occupy themselves with their daily routines.

Alistair was reading – that was his routine. Lara even took a while to observe what he was researching and went as far as making brief and cordial conversation about the "Rise and Fall of Ancient Egypt" - with him. Zip was listening to some music. He fell asleep seconds after the departure, nuanced into slumber by the collection of 80s ballads he loved to listen to.

It was only Winston, the older man, that kept crisp at all times, observing the beautiful countryside, sighing from time to time. He dressed elegantly. His blazer's freshness almost shone; the quality of his top was only matched by the eloquence of his cotton trousers and polished, black shoes. Realistically, it was the first time in months that Winston left the Manor and for some reason, that reality wearied him. It was most probably the sense of liberty he felt out in the country which he lacked within the Manor. At times, he felt a prisoner to the stone walls of that place. It was a strange sensation; unsettling and yet inexplicable. He felt distaste and affinity towards the mansion at the same time. He craved change and yet, he felt too weak to abandon the place that meant so much to him. The old man decided to take in the opportunity and watch the numerous pastures present occasionally. When driving through woods, he would look out for wild animals and watch the oak trees, often spiralling hundreds of feet off the ground. Soon, he overcame his sadness. Winston remembered his old life, its liberty and lack of restriction but he made the commitment, to both Richard and Amelia, to take care of Lara and the Manor. His sadness was extinguished by pride and loyalty. He was proud to live at the Manor and to be a part of it; he felt loyal to the extraordinary woman that he came to call his Lady.

* * *

It was the morning rush hour in Guildford, hence the time it took for the cab to penetrate the city centre and finally reach the station. It took almost an hour.

"Wake up, you bloody fool!" squealed Alistair, prodding Zip. In return, the male jumped up in his place, petrified at the sudden breach of his personal space and the force unexpectedly applied to his rib. In truth, Zip's peaceful sleep was unsettling Alistair for quite some time. While Alistair was genuinely bored, Zip slept carelessly and blissfully. That could not continue. The emergence of the city centre gave him a perfect pretext to wake him up; additionally, he could do so to ridicule him.

"You scared me man!" said Zip after a few seconds. It took him about that long to gather himself.

"There are plenty of beds back at the Manor. And turn that bloody thing off; that hissing sound out of these headphones is driving me nuts!" answered Alistair. "How about you read something instead?" he added.

"You have the advantage, Alistair. If I was home now, I would go to your room and borrow a few books which then would accidentally disappear."

"Don't you dare!" shouted Alistair.

"At the same time, I would use that opportunity to take your precious creamy pyjamas and..."

"Lads!" intervened Lara, pacifying the inadvertent argument or rant that would have flourished between the two. "We are here"  
Guildford station came into view.

"Listen, Zip. I am sorry. I did not mean to anger you. Please, leave my things alone when we get back."

"I was only joking" retorted Zip.

The extent to which Zip's remark was honest remained unknown. As soon as Alistair exited the cab, Zip made a gesture to Lara, invalidating his promise. He explained it with a whisper: "Alistair's pyjamas are not safe any longer."

Lara looked at Zip, putting on a face overcome with pity: "You should listen to yourself, Zip. A grown man behaving like a child".

She closed in on his face. "If you touch his pyjamas, Zip, I swear I will personally cut off the electricity supply as soon as I go to bed. Then, you will have to read Alistair's books even if you hate them, because you will have nothing else to do" Lara took a breath or two and equipped a sweet smile to accommodate her threat.

"I am not having Alistair disturbed over his pyjamas and you two arguing like boys all the time. We have an assignment to complete." Lara exited the cab at the conclusion of her sentence.

Zip seriously considered any future aggression on Alistair. If there was one thing he could not lose at the Manor, it was probably his legion of computers. After all, the long summer evening at the Manor would become a lot longer and a lot more boring if he was forced to read about the fall of ancient Egypt; that is, if Alistair would be ready to grant Zip the access to his research materials.

"You've got powerful friends, man" thought Zip, deciding not to seek any further pranks against Alistair or his attire.

* * *

Winston handled the taxi driver's demands, paying him for the elapsed journey. At the same time, Zip and Alistair, with Lara in front of them, slowly walked towards the station. Soon, the older gentleman caught up.

It was a very plain day. The sky did not shed raindrops any longer and the air was regaining humidity. The station was packed with businessmen, labourers, workers, bankers and the sort, all trying to reach London in time. The arrivals were almost empty; the departing platforms were swarming with people of all descriptions. Into that mirage, merged the four adventurers from Surrey.

The scene was typical.

Lara spearheaded them, masterfully evading people and squeezing in-between several individuals at once. Behind her, Zip and Alistair, racing for superiority and the lead. Behind them, usually a few feet or so, was Winston, calmly following the sight of Lady Croft. As expected, Lara entered the train first, found a seat and had to wait a considerable time before any of her companions cared to join her. From the thickness of the crowd, emerged the three males. They took their seats next to Lara and anticipated the departure.

* * *

And so, the train departed, slowly moving away from the station. The metallic grinding of the engine and the cars emanated for a few seconds. The characteristic clunking of the rails followed. Soon, the windows ceased to display a consistent image of the city, instead, showing a merger of colours, shapes, caused by the sheer speed of the train. For a few hours everyone forgot yesterday; its tensions and emotion. They almost forgot the reason they had to go to London. Most importantly, they all felt like family. The Manor brought them together and cemented their friendship. It could be easily said that they could not longer cope without one another. Even something as insignificant as a trip to the train station gave them real enjoyment.

"Welcome aboard, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the service X11 bound for Vauxhall Station, via Cobham, Esher and Kingston. We wish you a comfortable journey!"

The welcoming message of the announcer was interrupted by Lara herself, as she suddenly let out a sizeable sigh and told her companions:

"It's been too long since I rode in one of these. We must do this more often"

All the three males nodded in genuine agreement.


	5. Day Thee - Part II

_Continuation of the story. Thanks for taking your time to read. I will appreciate critique and reviews. Thanks!_

* * *

It was cold and it rained. The sky appeared troubled, as long as long streaks of grey matter, crying to the ground with water, could be perceived to be a sign of heavenly vexation. Motor vehicles and buses roared ferociously. The irritating sounds of chatter—an occasional shout, and general urban environs, mixed together to unveil the routine soundtrack of the royal city.

Away from the bustle, nestled comfortably between a green park and a rather peacefully sleepy neighbourhood, stood an inferior building. It was comprised completely of red-brick, majority of which was either smothered in soot. It was wedged in and held to both sides by semi-detached properties, both clearly abandoned. The stretch of the road on which it was located was visibly an old trading centre, supplying the local community with necessities. Currently, the small shop was the only one open and maintained to an acceptable condition. Its neighbouring counterparts were covered in moss, shielded by broken windows with rotten wooden frames. The sight was rather comical. Two unpleasant units holding the little, cosy property in the middle as though a small particle of the greater edifice successfully resisted time and adopted an immunity to economic depressions.

From the street, a dim light was visible, glowing and illuminating the tinted glass of the wooden door, providing an entrance inside. The display unit manifested a wide array of conventional tools, mechanised building instruments and on the side, a small piece of furniture on which hung hundreds upon hundreds of little keys. They glittered; golden, silver, copper coloured keys, all held closely together on lettered stands. From a distance, one could conclude that the shop held a mannequin clad in chain-mail, so numerous were the different types and varieties of smaller and greater keys. Atop the roof of the shop, held upwards by three wooden planks, hung the sign:  
"SMITH THE LOCKSMITH".

It was late afternoon, about five. The skies were dark and the rain persistent. Current weather conditions caused the light within the little shop to gain strength and saturation. It was now necessary to continue functioning indoors. The street was quiet. The last car to pass it left three hours ago. It was a truly idyllic place and the park opposite of the locksmith only added to the charm. Trees waved in the wind, whistling and rustling. The street-lights remained off, since the summer rotation meant they would awaken at nine pm. Consequently, the place was darker than usual, owing to the weather, and the little shop, tucked away in the periphery of the neighbourhood, was the only place that seemed active.

* * *

"Tell me because I'm so confused. Why Coincidence?" A male voice, continually more loud, suddenly became the only sound to be heard in the vicinity, apart from the blowing of the wind and the whirlwinds of leafs, encircled by plastic bags, waving in the storm.

"Why that? And what's the difference?" continued the conversation.

"Why do I even bother?" answered a different voice, considerably more soft and a lot more sophisticated than the first one.

"You are not planning on starting again, are you?" joined a third voice; a supreme female voice.

Out of the mirage of parked cars, about a mile from the aforementioned shop and park, emerged four people. A woman and three males. Alistair, Zip, Lara and Winston.

All tried to keep pace but the attempt to walk in a group on a narrow footpath was not plausible. Consequently, Lara walked ahead, alone, trailed very closely by Alistair and Zip. Winston remained at the back. Occasionally, Lara would slow down and talk to him.

"Right, to make this simple. What is your actual question?" continued on Alistair.

Zip placed his hand on his face, displaying irritation and answered quickly:

"You are enjoying this, aren't you? Well..." here, he took a deep breath: "King Arthur's sword. Excalibur, right? It's called that?"

"The sword in the stone..."

"That one!" interrupted Zip.

Alistair was moved by the fact that he could not finish his previous sentence. He gathered strength and spoke:

"That one is called Coincidence. Excalibur was a gift from the Lady of the Lake...bloody hell, there is so much literature on this. Stop irritating me and go and read!"

"When asking you is so much simpler?! Why would I do that?" retorted Zip. Lara slowed down, causing everyone to stop.

"Since when do you share our interest in British mythology, Zip?" spoke Lara, rather suddenly, inflaming the dying ember of the conversation. The group began to advance again.

"Well, Excalibur...you always think that they were the same swords. But..."

In retaliation to the previous situation, Alistair interrupted with a high-pitched voice:  
"THEY AREN'T!"

The party ground to a halt again.

"Seriously, Zip. If you are interested in such things, I must agree with Alistair. The Manor has more on Arthur than Cambridge and Oxford combined. Go and research!"

"OK, Lara. At least now I know. You know...sometimes I feel guilty not knowing anything. You know, no academic stuff, like Alistair here, so I ask. I am curious too you know."

Zip placed his hand on Alistair's shoulder.

"It's good to know. Someone asks: 'What was the Sword in the Stone called?' I say: Excalibur. All thanks to Alistair here, dispelling my ignorance!"

The finishing words of Zip's sentence had a profound effect on Alistair. He felt weak, furious and helpless. Zip's laughter did not help. Alistair motioned to reject Zip's hand and remove it from his shoulder and picking up pace, he elected to attempt and start a conversation with Lara. For Zip, it was a pure joke; Alistair however, took it seriously. He went through a lot and now, his patience was exhausted, especially concerning the matter of the proper name of King Arthur's consecutive swords. This matter began in Peru and then in Cornwall, as Lara battled to penetrate the tomb of the Pendragon. Still-and this was most hurtful to Alistair-Zip did not see the difference between Coincidence and Excalibur, even if it was a joke. In reality, Zip cared little for names. His prime interest was to antagonise Alistair.

Making conversation with Lara proved to be impossible, since as soon as the young man escaped Zip's cynical banter, the silent butler announced to the group that he is able to see the destination of their journey. Smith the Locksmith appeared in sight.

"My lady. Allow me to make way for us."

"Yes, Winston. Please" answered Lara, pointing to the frail doors to the workshop.

Alistair on Lara's right and Zip on her left, the three stood fixated into the older man entering the shop. A familiar ring of a bell sounded, alerting the proprietor of the presence of a customer, only this time it was someone special. A special friend. One could hear cordial exchanges of greetings, embracing and laughter. Inspired with confidence, the three stood outside, awaiting the imminent entrance to the shop. The anticipation of that event was ever so fervent, since the rain began to batter down with increased fervour.

"John, let me introduce, Lady Lara Croft of Abbingdon".

Lara shook John's hand.

"And the head of research, Alistair Fletcher. And our information technology head..." The males followed suit.

One would not feel surprise if told that John was a twin or a brother to Winston. He too, was frail, rather short, grey-haired and extremely kind in appearance and character. He grinned endlessly, overcome with joy at the sight of a friend. Welcoming his guests with genuine and truthful excitement, he ushered them in, cursing the English weather.

"Always the same. Rain and more rain. Do come in."

John's voice was peaceful. He spoke in a most sophisticated English accent; not overly so, but the visitors appreciated the grandeur of his oral finesse. If there ever was a default template to the proper expression of English, John had mastered it. As the companions entered the shop, John moved towards the exit to lock the doors and hang the sign announcing the shop's closure. It read in bold, red, printed capitals: closed.

"I do hope that we are not too much trouble" spoke Lara, rather alarmed by the amount of trouble which the visit seemed to exert upon the older man.

"No, madam. Nothing of the sort. In fact, I did not see a single customer this day or the day before. Business is extremely sluggish, especially this year."

The interior was bathed in a strong smell of metal, motor oil and brass or copper. The tabletops, displaying some of the tools, were weathered slabs of timber. The counter itself did not appear to be too encouraging. However, the merchandise was excellently preserved and even the smallest screws and nails shone, animated by the modest lamp hung on a wire overhead. Alistair was focused enough to hear the dim crackling of a radio in the distance.

"A cup of tea?" inquired suddenly the owner of the locksmith.

Lara decided to speak for all. As always. "No, thank you very much"

"In this case, how may I serve you?" John's manner of speaking betrayed a common heritage of politeness and courtesy that he shared with Winston. Again, Lara stepped forward to begin her speech.

"Yesterday, I came into the possession of a certain item and thankfully, Winston was able to point out that you could help us"

In order to avoid any unnecessary delays and in order to quench her unease and curiosity, the tomb raider decided to show the item in question. Lara took off her backpack and carefully emptied it. The weathered, red case was once again in everyone's sight.

"This lock, in particular."

The woman caressed the golden specimen with her fingers. John left the room to everyone's surprise but returned within seconds, holding a pair of black-framed glasses. He placed them on his nose and breathing in, dived to take a closer look at the construction of the lock. It took him a few seconds to realise what year the lock was made and what company endeavoured to make it and with each passing moment, his face grew thicker with unexpected astonishment. After about a minute of observing it, he took the case into his hands and began to touch the lock, inspect its mechanism and attempt to look through its various channels.

"This is...absolutely splendid" spoke John after a few moments with the lock. "1794, Leroy Brothers and co., beautifully preserved. Ah, this is the reason I keep this old shack open!" John was clearly moved.

However, not allowing anyone to rob him of his momentum, he quickly picked up the conversation he left a second ago. "My lady. You do realise..."

John was addressing Lara directly. Zip and Alistair stood in the corner of the shop. They already occupied themselves reviewing the different sorts of things on display for a few minutes but now they were forced to—at least passively—partake in the emerging conversation.

"...You do realise that the lock itself is a peculiar mechanism—a masterful machination—serving as a contraption designed to withhold a parchment?"

"We already established that, Mister?" Lara followed etiquette to gain some information out of John.

"Smith, my lady, John Smith." Zip and Alistair looked at Winston, who was currently sat down next to a worktop, observing a collection of watches available on that spot. Lara too, was surprised, wondering whether the coincidence had any further value.

"Mr. Smith, we already know that the lock hides some material. We came here in hope of opening the lock without damaging whatever it is holding" A wave of joy washed over Mr. Smith's face once more.

"Then you came to the right place, my lady!". John hummed a jolly tune and galloped away to the neighbouring room once more, leaving the red case on the wooden counter. Only now, did Lara draw further attention to what John wore. Matching his elegance in speech, his black waist-jacket covered a white shirt, striped in black and rounded off with a blue tie. His shoes clicked on the wooden floor of the shop. Considering the amount of dust, ash and timber chips around, the polished shine of his black loafers did surprise the woman.

On his way John asked Winston whether he likes his watches, drawing his attention to a particular section of the display with his hand. The older man nodded in agreement and gave John ever more reason for satisfaction. By now, Zip was sat down, reading something on his phone. Alistair sat on the windowsill and observed the unfolding events before him, crossing his arms and occasionally sighing.

This time, it took John a lot longer to return. In addition, his presence in the maintenance room coincided with a few compelling sounds of crashing and ringing. It was almost as though someone waded through a sea of metal pans, pipes and cutlery. However, after all that passed, he rushed back into the room.

"This one is particularly nice" said Winston turning around on his stool and presenting a lavish silver wristwatch.

John acknowledged his interest and nodded in return; this did not however, divert him from his intention of returning to Ms. Croft. Soon, she learnt that he held a fork-like utensil in his hand. It looked extremely old.

"Now..." John strained, placing the fork into one of the openings in the lock.

"This Bramah lock, the 90s variety, is tough. Its material makes it extremely resilient"

Each word left John with difficulty, as the precarious nature of his task meant that he had to take care and slowly slot the fork into the lock, while speaking at the same time. On the other hand, doing such a delicate job while conversing, and doing so with the least ostentation, inspired Lara with confidence that she was addressing a pure professional.

John continued, fiddling the old fork inside the lock. "It had seven openings. This is the largest one and it governs the mechanism opening the gates of the other six"

John removed the old fork from the opening and raised it higher for Lara to see up-close.

"This is what is often colloquially regarded to as a 'French lock-fiddle'. Many thought that Bramahs were impenetrable unless one had the key to the original lock. In the 1830s, the French engineered a universal lock manager, or a fiddle, as we came to call it. Astonishingly, it handled even the worst of Bramahs without needing the original key"

John resumed his work on the lock. Lara looked on with fascination. "There are about four of these left in the UK. I bought it off a friend of mine for a few pounds. It's worth at least three hundred times more."

Suddenly, the lock clicked, releasing residue and dust a few inches into the air. John managed to collect some dust on his chin; he motioned to wipe it off as quickly as it settled. Lara took a step closer towards the chest.

"And so, mighty Troy has fallen" exclaimed triumphantly Mr. Smith.

Out, onto the hard surface of the counter, rolled out a parchment with some hand-writing visible. The lock succumbed, breaking apart into two clusters. Alistair waved on Zip to remove his headphones and come over to see what was happening. Winston too, came to see.

"Fascinating" exclaimed Alistair suddenly.

"I know it fascinates me!" added Lara, going over the broken parts of the lock and its corresponding paper extension, lying on the wooden surface.

John took out a pair of leather gloves out of his jacket. Carefully, he picked up the parchment and opening it up, he handed it to Lara, kindly adding:

"Here, Lady Croft."

Lara received the piece of paper into her hands and softly opened it up to its full length, which was about four inches. The writing was extremely weak although the saturation of the ink and the unusual material from which the piece of paper appeared to be made from, allowed anyone with a sharp eyesight to perceive the letters and make out what was written. Lara took a deep breath and read out loud, audibly enough for all to hear. The rain still pounded outside, so much so that puddles began to form on the street, visible from the shop door.

"_To the reader concerned. Opening this lock required a special key, consequently assuring me that the recipient reading this message is someone desired. The preservation of this parchment was essential in the appreciation of the most valuable contents of this case. Within it, you shall find a metal box, protected by a safe. The code is written below_"

Lara handled the contents of the red box and took out a shining, silver box with a bulky safe, comprising of eight digits, protecting the opening. The lady put the box in front of her and noting the code written on the parchment, she introduced it into the safe. Once again, a lock opened, leaving the vulnerable contents to Ms. Croft's mercy. Lara lifted the lid of the silver case, gripping all present in unusual excitement. Even John, who knew least of the matter, seemed engaged.

In this great moment of tension, the battering of the rain outside strengthened ever further. It was now clearly a storm. Even though it was summer, the sky was already ominously dark, as though it was night already. The lamp continued to shine and the radio still hummed in the distance. The reflections of the entire party, stood fixated into the silver box, danced on the windows and the glass portion of the door. All stood patient and solemn, waiting to see the great shadow of mystery dispersed by the discovery of what the desired case held within.

* * *

_Thanks for reading. Continuation will follow soon._


End file.
